


Can't Breathe on My Own

by Ragingbulldurham



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Post Movie, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingbulldurham/pseuds/Ragingbulldurham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I have a room,” he spoke up. “You can stay with me. Besides, we’re supposed to stick together, remember?”</i>
</p><p>Written for the prompt: Claire x Owen Just got back to The States. InGen buys them a room...... With only one bed.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Breathe on My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, are you tired of seeing my prompts yet? This was written for the prompt: 
> 
> Claire x Owen Just got back to The States. InGen buys them a room...... With only one bed..... 
> 
> The title is from the Brittsommar song. Enjoy!

“What do you mean you’re booked solid?” Claire was _thisclose_ to screaming. Or crying. Or both, to be honest.

They had stayed until the last of the Jurassic World guests had left the hangar, off to flights or hotels or home, Claire didn’t really _care_ as long as she was no longer responsible for them.

She had been told that there would be a hotel room waiting for her when she was ready, and _God_ was she ready. She was ready to finally take off these godforsaken shoes, take a shower so hot that it was borderline painful, climb into bed, and sleep for days.

It was a great plan.

Until she arrived at the hotel to find out that there wasn’t a reservation under her name. 

She was on the edge, she could feel her control slipping through her fingertips, and she was far too exhausted to be anything close to rational.

“Ms. Dearing, I’m so sorry there seems to have been a mix up,” which was the _very last thing_ Claire wanted to hear.

“Where am I supposed to go?” She asked, not really expecting an answer. As she was deciding whether she was about to sink to the floor and collapse into a puddle of tears or rip the concierge’s head clean off, she felt a warm hand on her elbow, and she turned to find Owen standing there.

“I have a room,” he spoke up. “You can stay with me. Besides, we’re supposed to stick together, remember?” Claire didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded instead, and Owen flashed her a small smile as they wove their way through the crowds to the elevator.

When they stepped inside, Claire slumped against the wall, closing her eyes for just a second, and she opened them again when the elevator stopped moving, catching Owen’s look of concern.

“I’ll be okay,” she reassured. “Nothing a hot shower and some sleep won’t cure.” Owen didn’t look all that convinced, and she didn’t actually blame him. There was plenty that she was sure she wasn’t processing yet, plenty that she was in denial about, plenty that would haunt her when she finally allowed herself to think about.

But to her relief, Owen just shot her a grin, and shrugged.

“There’s not much a hot shower and some sleep won’t cure,” he replied. “Especially if you had alcohol to that list.” He slid the key in the lock and shoved it open with his shoulder, and then stopped short.

“Huh,” he said. “There’s only…one bed.”

“We’re adults, we can manage this.” Claire didn’t have the energy to worry about sharing a bed with him. Not when she was forty three seconds away from falling asleep standing right where she was. “Or I can sleep on the floor. I don’t mind.” At this point, she really didn’t.

“No,” his answer was immediate and vehement. “You’re _not_ sleeping on the floor. I’ll take the floor.”

“No,” it was her turn to shake her head. “You’ve got to be just as sore and tired as I am. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. This is your room after all.” There was a beat of silence, before what she could have sworn was the hint of a smile ghosted across Owen's face. 

“So we’ll share?”

“We’ll share,” she decided. Owen nodded, and they stood there in another beat of awkward silence for a moment before Claire motioned to the bathroom. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Not at all. Listen, you shower and I’ll go see if I can round up some basic necessities,” Owen offered.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Claire eased off her heels, wincing as the air hit some of the open blisters, and she stepped into the bathroom, reaching in and turning on the shower as hot as she could possibly stand, stripping off her dirty clothes and stepping under the spray with a sigh.

She wasn’t sure how long she was in there, long enough to start to feel a little more human again, when there was a knock on the door.

“I managed to find a t-shirt and some sweats,” he called. “I’ll just leave them right out here.”

_Clean clothes._ It was almost more than she could have hoped for, and she shut off the water and wrapped a fluffy towel around her body, picking up her pile of disgusting clothes gingerly and tossing the whole ball into the trash can. She opened the door, hands darting out to grab the clothes.

It felt wonderful to pull on clean clothes, and Claire figured it was just _another_ thing she owed Owen (the list was long, and getting longer by the minute). 

She stepped out into the room to find Owen perched on the edge of the chair, the bed still untouched.

“I didn’t want to sit on the bed. I’m, uh, pretty gross.” Owen tugged on his filthy shirt. “And you thought I smelled before.”

“The shower’s all yours,” she gestured behind her, he nodded, standing and slipping past her. Without thinking about it too hard (that had always been her problem. She always did have a habit of overthinking things. New Claire was going to live more in the moment. New Claire was also going to stay away from any prehistoric animals. She wasn’t sure what else New Claire was going to or not going to do, but those two rules seemed a good place to start), she reached out a hand and grabbed his.

He stopped, glancing over at her, and she gave his fingers a squeeze and then smiled.

“Thank you, for the clothes,” she said. “And the room, and you know, just everything.” Her voice broke on the last part, and she tried to tamp down the emotions.

_Not yet, not yet, not yet._

Owen seemed to understand, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and she nodded, letting go of his hand and letting him go into the bathroom.

Claire told herself that she would stay up and wait for him, but as soon as she had slid under the covers, she felt exhaustion take over, and she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

She stirred when the bed dipped, and she wondered if she should stay on her side of the bed, hugging the edge, keeping to her assigned space, and Old Claire would have. Old Claire would have argued that she didn’t really know anything about Owen, that they hadn’t talked about anything other than sticking together in the immediate aftermath of the incident. Old Claire would have wondered what she was doing here at all, why hadn’t she gone back with her sister and her family? Why hadn’t she just tried another hotel, or hunkered down in the lobby until a room opened up? Old Claire wouldn’t have wanted to be beholden to anyone.

But Old Claire was gone, left back on the island, and good riddance.

Instead, she rolled over, blinking open her eyes just long enough to see Owen’s warm smile, and she fit her body against his, his strong arms coming around her, and for the first time in hours, she felt warm, content, _safe._


End file.
